A man stood up. He wore a denim jacket with paint stains, and his hair was tied back with a rubber band. Beside him sat a small boy with freckles and a superhero sweater. The man lifted a hand in a simple invitation.
“Join us if you like. We have space.”
The hostess hurried toward him. “Sir, this is not appropriate. This is an executive level venue.”
The man looked at her steadily.
“Food tastes the same to everyone. She is welcome.”
Cassandra felt something stir. Not pity. Not rebellion. Simply gratitude.
She walked across the room. He pulled out a chair for her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I am Trevor Mason,” he said. “And this is my son, Ben.”
Cassandra smiled at the child. “I am Cassandra.”
Trevor did not flinch at the name. He did not ask about companies or wealth. He simply handed her a menu.
“You like seafood or steak. I promised Ben the biggest dessert in the building.”
Ben grinned. “Mom says New Year wishes work better when you share the table.”
Cassandra swallowed softly. She had not heard a child speak to her without caution in years.